Where Are You?
by SdaisyS
Summary: Christian goes to a new gallery opening, looking to purchase landscape photos from a new photographer. José Rodríguez. He's looking for something fresh, new, young, from a beginner. There, he sees the seven huge portraits of Anastasia. ONE-SHOT. -..-..-..-..-..-..-..-..-..-..-..-..-..- Also a small APOV ONE-SHOT. {I do not own FSoG.}
1. Christian's ONESHOT

**CPO** **V**

My name is Christian Grey. I'm a twenty-seven year old self-made billionaire, entrepreneur and businessman, owning my own company. I exercise control in all things. I need control, I crave it, because I am a Dominant in the BDSM lifestyle. Being a secret Dominant, I'm a very private person, so I don't give interviews. _Period._ My world is very neat, disciplined, controlled, and utterly empty. Until the day I started dreaming about a brunette...

It all started, _Monday, May 9th, 2011._

I've been dreaming of a brunette, though I can't see her face, but I can tell she has an amazing body. I can even smell her sweet, intoxicating, yet, calming scent.

I dream of her in my office, on her knees.

I dream of her walking away from me, almost getting hit by a cyclist but I pull her to safety.

I dream of her sleeping next to me.

I dream of her in my helicopter at night.

I dream of her in my bed, _vanilla._

I dream of her shaking her ass, making me breakfast.

I dream of her in my large bathtub, sucking my dick.

I dream of taking her to my parents house for dinner.

I dream of taking her soaring.

I dream of flogging her in my playroom.

I dream of fucking her.

I dream of her... and dream of only her, each night.

I can never see her face in the dreams, so I don't know what she looks like. I can only assume she's one of my previous submissives, since she's a brunette. All of my submissives are. However, her in my office? My helicopter? Sleeping in my bed? Vanilla? Meeting my parents? _Never._

Last night, I dreamt we were in my playroom. She was bent over the whipping bench and I hit her six times with a brown leather belt. She was crying, but not once did she safeword or say stop. After the sixth strike, she vanished, and I woke.

 _What the hell are these dreams about?!_

Dismissing the latest one, like I do most mornings, I climb out of bed and start my day.

I put on fresh sweats and sneakers, getting ready for my morning run.

It's raining outside, typical for Seattle, so I head to the indoor gym in my building where I live.

I get on the treadmill and set a punishing pace while my thoughts stray to the brunette.

 _Why can't I see her face? Who is she? Why am I dreaming of her?_

It's a welcomed change to the horrific night-terrors of my early childhood. Since I've been dreaming of her, I have had the most peaceful nights sleep I have ever had.

 _I wish she was real_.

I stop the treadmill, breathless, and head to my apartment to shower and start another tedious day.

Today, I am going to a photographer's art gallery opening that Andrea, my PA, told me about.

I'd like a landscape photo in my office so I asked Andrea to find me a young, new photographer. She found a kid, still in college, with a good photography reputation. His opening is tonight, June 9th, at The Portland Place Gallery.

I have a few meetings at Grey House this morning, nothing major, but I don't want to be late to the exhibit, I don't do late, so I am flying _Charlie Tango_ there. Taylor will drive the SUV and leave shortly before me, then drive me home.

After I'm showered, dressed, and have eaten an egg white omelet, made by Mrs. Jones, I head to GEH.

 ** _~..~..~_**

 ** _~At Grey House~_**

In my office, I stare out the window at the Seattle skyline. It's a beautiful view up here from the twentieth floor, but Seattle weather is very gray, much like my mood.

My days are blending together with no distinction, and other than my dreams of the brunette, my life right now, is very boring.

I continue a pattern; eat, work, sleep, and dream of the brunette.

I need some kind of diversion, a distraction from my day to day, a new sub maybe? It's been what, three months since my last sub, Susannah. It's definitely been too long. I contemplate calling Elena, she always finds me suitable candidates, but the truth is, the only thing that has captured my attention is the brunette in my dreams, though, she is not real.

Perhaps, I will call Elena tomorrow.

After my meetings, I leave GEH and drive myself to Escala, the building my penthouse apartment is located.

In the elevator, instead of going to my apartment, I head to the roof of my building, since there is a helipad on the roof where _Charlie Tango_ is waiting for me. _Charlie Tango_ is my helicopter. It's an EC135 Eurocopter, one of the safest in its class. It's also equipped for night flying. I've been a fully qualified pilot for four years and I love flying her.

I climb in, buckle myself into my seat, then begin the procedure of the preflight checks.

All instruments look good so I press the throttle to 1500 rpm, transponder to stand-by.

I put my cans on when the rotor blades start, to block out their deafening sound, and continue getting her ready for the flight.

Everything is set and ready to go, so I radio air traffic control.

"Sea-Tac tower, this is _Charlie Tango_ Golf-Golf Echo Hotel, cleared for take-off. Please confirm, over." I increase the throttle to 2000 rpm.

"Charlie Tango, _You are clear for take-off. Sea-Tac to call, proceed to one four thousand, over."_

"Roger tower, _Charlie Tango_ set, over and out."

Once I'm given the all clear to go, I do my final checks and increase to 2500 rpm, pulling back on the throttle.

I graciously raise my helicopter slowly and smoothly into the air, watching as Escala disappears and I fly her toward Portland.

It's so beautifully peaceful up here, to me this is comfort because nothing can harm me here.

Flying requires control and concentration, two qualities I most enjoy.

As I fly, I think of the dream I had, of taking the brunette from my dreams in the helicopter. I have never flown a woman, other than Ros, in _Charlie Tango,_ so I'm not sure why I would dream about taking a sub in my helicopter. It doesn't make any sense.

I am approaching the outskirts of Portland, so ATC refocuses me on the flight path, halting my thoughts of my dream girl.

. As the helipad comes into view, I talk with air traffic control one last time, and start my descend.

I slow the helicopter and hover over the helipad on top of the building, landing smoothly, then I power her down.

I remove my cans and unbuckle my harness as the rotor blades slow and come to a stop.

I climb out of my seat and open the door, jumping down onto the helipad.

It's very windy on top of the building so I hurry inside the small office where Joe, an old-timer, sits behind a desk.

"Good flight, Mr. Grey?" He asks me.

"Yes, thank you, Joe." I shake his hand. "Keep her safe for Stephan. He'll be along shortly."

"Will do, Mr. Grey. Taylor is waiting downstairs."

I nod and head down the three floors in the elevator.

Taylor is waiting for me at the curb with the SUV's back door open.

"Taylor." I greet him.

"Mr. Grey." He nods.

I sit in silence as Taylor drives me to the gallery.

Passing by a bar, I can't help but think of their azalea bushes. _Where did that thought come from?!_

Taylor pulls the SUV up in front of the gallery.

After Taylor gets out, he opens my door and I climb out, buttoning my suit jacket as I stand.

Taylor follows me inside the converted warehouse. It's very modern; brick walls, dark wood floors, white ceilings and pipe work.

There are several people wandering across the gallery floor admiring all the photographs.

"Good evening and welcome to José Rodríguez's show." A young woman dressed in black with very short hair and bright red lipstick greets me.

She's gazing at me longer than necessary, grinning and blushing, as she hands me a brochure and directs me to a table with drinks and snacks.

I'll have a glass of white wine, since I wont be flying _Charlie Tango_ home, and Taylor will be driving me back to Seattle.

I head to the bar to get my drink, exchanging pleasantries with those waiting in line.

After I get my drink, I begin to wonder around looking at the photographer's work.

There are photographs hanging everywhere, and as I look around I see he really is quite talented.

I take a sip of my wine as I admire one of the photographs.

"Christian Grey?" I turn around, still sipping my wine, at the sound of my name.

It's a photographer from the _Portland Printz_

"Can I have a picture, sir?" He asks, holding his camera up.

"Sure." I try to hide my scowl. _Fucking media._

The photographer snaps a couple of photos, thanks me, then runs off.

I continue my tour of the stunning artwork.

There's an ethereal beauty to many of the landscape photos, displaying tranquility and peace. This is what I've been looking for.

I wander passed a few more prints, nothing catching my eye, but as I turn the corner, that's when I see it.

Hanging on the far wall are seven huge portraits of a very beautiful brunette. She looks like a very relaxed goddess, pouting, laughing, scowling, serious, amused. They are all super close up, all in black and white, all breathtaking.

 _Holy shit! Who is this beauty? She must be a model!_

I am staring transfixed at the pictures.

She raises the ordinary to extraordinary and I have to know who she is.

"Excuse me." I stop someone who is clearly working the gallery.

"Yes, sir, can I help you?"

"Who is the model in these portraits?" I nod toward the photos.

"I'm not sure, sir. She's the photographer's friend, that's all I know." _Incompetent_ _moron!_

"What is her name?"

"I don't know." _Well, what the fuck do you know?!_

"Is she here?" I growl, now irritated.

"I'm not sure, sir." _Fucking useless!_

Instead of continuing with this fucker, I stomp off toward the reception desk.

I found the photographs I want, I have to have them, and there are seven so I can put them in various locations. My office, my home, _my bedroom._ I sound like a fucking pervert, though I can't argue with that. I am a pervert.

"I'd like all seven portraits of the girl." I tell the short haired, red lipstick woman from earlier.

"Yes, sir." Miss short hair and red lipstick all but purrs.

It's the usual effect, but it's just a pretty face.

I resist rolling my eyes as I take out my wallet and produce my black Amex card.

After she rings me up, she returns my card, along with a receipt.

 _They are mine!_

"They will be available for delivery as soon as the show is finished." She lets me know.

"Do you happen to know the subject's name?" _I have to know._

"I'm not really sure. I know it starts with an A, but it's a long and unusual name."

 _Fucking hell!_

"The photographer, José Rodríguez, knows her name." She tells me, pointing him out. "He's right over there."

A young college aged guy is talking to a group of young women in the corner of the warehouse near the bar.

I quickly scan each girl, hoping one is the beauty in the photographs, but no such luck. Unfortunately, none are.

I'd really rather not go over there, with all those women around, but I have no choice if I want to know who this girl is.

I walk over to the photographer and his groupies, and as I approach, the women gasp, no doubt knowing who I am.

"Excuse me." I interrupt. "José Rodríguez?"

"Yeah, that's me." He grins being recognized.

"Christian Grey." I introduce myself. "You have very impressive work, Mr. Rodríguez. Congratulations on your opening."

"Thank you, Mr. Grey. I hope you're enjoying yourself."

"I was told you're more of a landscape photographer, but I happen to notice photos of a young girl." I get right to my point. "I was told she's a friend of yours and I was wondering her name. To go with my visual of the portraits, of course." I sound impassive as ever, giving nothing away.

"Yeah, they seem to be a popular attraction." This gets my blood boiling.

 _A popular attraction?! She's supposed to be this fucker's friend?!_

"That's one of my friends from college. She's just graduated, though. Her name is A-"

"José, the journalist from the _Portland Printz_ is here to see you." A gallery worker interrupts us. "Come on."

She gives me a polite smile but I scowl in return.

"Sure. Excuse me, Mr. Grey."

He walks away with the young woman and together they go towards the photographer from _Portland Printz_ that took my picture earlier.

I decide to wonder around a bit more, because if she is a friend, perhaps she'll come to his show. After all, she is being displayed as a work of art in his gallery.

I've been walking around looking at every long haired brunette, but I don't see her, so I start looking at every brunette.

Maybe she's cut her beautiful hair. _I hope not._

I've caught the eyes of nearly every woman here, trying to find the beauty in the photographs. A few have tried to pounce, thinking my eye contact was an invitation, but my scowl stops them from coming closer.

I've been here longer than I'd like, it's late and I'm exhausted. I don't see her and I have no idea how I am every going to find out who she is. Though I can stare at her for however long I want, now that I've purchased her portraits.

"Let's go, Taylor." I grumble as I stroll passed him.

"Yes, sir."

It's dark by the time we leave the gallery. I climb inside the SUV, after Taylor opens the rear door for me, and settle in for the long ride home.

 _ **~..~..~**_

Once I'm back at Escala, I shower and change into my pajamas.

Climbing into bed, I wonder if I will dream of the brunette again, since I've been dreaming of her for about a month now.

I fall into a deep sleep and before I know it, my dream state takes me away...

 _"I don't want you to go." I tell her._

 _"I can't stay."_ _She says._ _"I know what I want, and you can't give it to me. And I can't give you what you need."_

 _I want to hold her, to smell her sweet, intoxicating, calming scent._

 _I step toward her, wanting to feel her in my arms again, but she holds up her hands halting me._

 _"Don't. Please."_ _She tells me. "_ _I can't do this."_

 _She grabs her suitcase and backpack and heads for the elevator._

 _I follow like a lost puppy, and in the foyer she calls the elevator._

 _She enters the elevator as soon as it arrives and the doors opens._ _Once she's inside, she turns around to push the button for the lobby floor._ _It's much too dark, so I still can't see her face, but I can't take my eyes off of her._

No. Don't go. Don't leave me. _I internally beg, but I can't speak, I can't move_.

 _"Good-bye, Christian." She's emotional._

 _As the doors begin to close, I see a tear slip down her cheek, and before I know it, she's gone._

"Anastasia!" I scream and bolt upright in bed, gasping for air.


	2. Anastasia's ONESHOT

**APOV**

 _ **May,**_ _ **26th,**_ _ **2011**_ _(The day before graduation.)_

My name is Anastasia Steele. I am a twenty-one year old student, studying British Literature at WSU. I am quiet, shy, and witty. Some say I am innocent, I get that a lot. Kate often teases me that I am missing the need-a-boyfriend gene, but the truth is I just haven't met anyone who. . . . well, whom I am attracted to, even though part of me longs for the fabled trembling knees, heart in my mouth, butterflies in my stomach, moments. Sometimes I too, wonder if there's something wrong with me. Perhaps I've spent too long in the company of my literary romantic heroes and consequently my expectations are far too high. In reality, nobody's ever made me feel like that.

Until recently.

Though they are just dreams.

I am currently working at Clayton's Hardware. It's the largest independent hardware store in the Portland area. I have worked there for the four years I've attended college. Ironically, I am crap and anything Do-It-Yourself. I leave all that to my dad, Ray.

My current roommate Kate, and I are moving to Seattle, Washington after our graduation. We already have an apartment there. It's in the Pike Market District. I have interviews for internships with two publishing companies in Seattle.

A man named Christian Grey is conferring the degrees at this year's graduation ceremony. I'm not sure who he is, but apparently he's a brilliant businessman from Seattle. Kate was obsessed, trying to get an interview with him, because he is a major benefactor of the university. She wanted the interview to be in the graduation issue of the student newspaper. Though for all her trying, pleading, and almost begging, even the tenacious Katherine Kavanagh could not be granted an interview with the private CEO.

Although she is infatuated with this man, I am not. And I have not even seen a photograph of him. I can wait until graduation, to see what he looks like. Kate said he's quite young. I'd guess he's in his forties since he's a CEO of a company.

We are graduating tomorrow. I'm very excited. I can't believe the day is finally among us. I've worked so hard for this. My mother per-usual can't make my graduation, like all my other milestones. Bob, husband number four, has twisted some ligament. My mother doesn't want to leave him in that condition. But honestly, he's a grown man. She says she is sorry that she can't come to my graduation, though she will think of me that day. I assure her it's fine. Besides, Ray will be there. He is always there for me. He's my daddy.

I have been dreaming of a man. I can't see his face, but he has an unbelievably incredible body, with copper unruly locks. I can even smell him. He has an intoxicating scent. My dreams of him don't make any sense and some are really weird.

The first dream I've ever dreamed of him, I was interviewing him at his office. See, that right there doesn't make any sense.

 _Why would I be interviewing anyone?_

I've dreamed of him in Clayton's Hardware, buying cable ties, masking tape, and rope. _What an odd combination._

I also dream of going for coffee with him. Though I don't even drink coffee. _I must of had tea._

I dream of him holding me, looking as though he may kiss me, and I want him to. But he doesn't.

I dream he sends me books. _Tess of the d'Urbervilles_ , first editions.

I dream he saves me from Jose's advances. _Why would Jose be trying to kiss me? He's my good friend._

I dream of waking in his hotel suite. That was a weird one. Waking in a dream while still sleeping.

I dream of him kissing me in an elevator. _What is it about elevators?_

I dream of him flying me in a helicopter.

I dream of being in a huge penthouse apartment with large floor to ceiling windows, with him pouring me wine.

I dream of a Red Room. I don't see anything inside the room, I just know it is red.

I dream of having sex with this dream man, losing my virginity.

I dream of him handing me my diploma, and I can't stop looking at his tie. _I wonder why?_ It is a nice tie.

I dream of meeting his parents.

I dream he takes me soaring in a glider.

I dream of us in the Red Room, I still can't see the contents of the room.

I dream of laying on a bed, sleeping next to him.

I dream of him hitting me with a belt. _Why would he hit me like that?_

I dream of leaving him, _probably for hitting me_.

I call an elevator and walk in as soon as the doors open.

I turn around to look at him, though I still can't see his face. It's much too dark.

The elevator doors.

"Christian!" I bolt upright in my bed as I wake, screaming a man's name.

* * *

 _ **Due to popular demand and many requests to continue this story, I have decided to extend Christian's pov.  
My story, Dreaming Of You, is the continuance of Christian's pov.  
This story, Where Are You, will stay as it is.  
**_

 **{SdaisyS}**


End file.
